Tag Archives: goats

5 Reasons Nature Hates Me

I will fuck you up.

I will fuck you up.

I’ve always had weird experiences with animals, probably because when I was a child I caused the inadvertent death of 5 baby mice.

We found them in a nest in one of my mom’s sweaters. I took great pains to place them gently into a matchbox filled with Easter grass. I spoke to them softly and I made them as comfortable as I could. Then I walked outside and very respectfully buried them alive.

What the ever loving fuck? I know. I don’t get it either. It wasn’t until much later that my mother casually pointed out that I was a killer. The entire time I thought of myself as this noble, kind little girl, giving the poor, motherless mice a dignified funeral. It would’ve been perfect, had the little fuckers been dead first.

I’ve never actually thought about the source of the enmity between me and the natural world. But now that I look back, it’s clear that I brought this upon myself.

Shit. I just remembered that I may have caused the drowning death of two hamsters. Fuck. No wonder my adult life has been plagued with snakes and goats.

Moving on.

I don’t think I accidentally injured, maimed, or outright killed any other pets until I was an adult.

Hold on, I need to go make sure my pets/children have food. And water. And air. Jesus.

You know, I started writing this to hopefully amuse some of you. Little did I know that I was going to delve into my past and learn that statistically I should probably be a serial killer. Let’s all take a moment to be thankful that I’ve always lacked ambition.

Okay, so there was the Year of the Goat. I’m not sure if this kind of goat-mayhem goes on in everyone’s life and they just don’t talk about it…or maybe it’s just me. Then there was the snake infestation which, by the way, is still ongoing. In light of my earlier revelations concerning my predilection for accidental murder, I think it’s safe to say that these snakes have been sent to destroy me.


I killed a bird too.

But really, it was the bird’s fault. I didn’t have my windows down on purpose so the little feathered fuck could fly in and smack against the back glass. I also had no idea what was happening as I drove down the road and suddenly my entire car was full of feathers. I don’t think this one is on me. The fact that I stopped at Sonic and gently removed the bird from my car with a pair of drumsticks ought to clear my name, I think. Maybe that bird woke up later and ordered some fries. Or maybe it was already dead and the people at Sonic still talk about the girl driving around with musical instruments and dead animals. Who knows.

Do you know anyone this lacking in common sense? Am I the only one Mother Nature has put a hit out on?


Seriously. This happened.

I realize that I may seem obsessed with goats.  I assure you, I am not.
But.  Before we moved into our new home, we had a ton of cleaning and remodeling to do. (Like, the 500 used needles in the yard. ”I’m not a crackhead, I have diabetes.”  Mmmhmm. Whatever.)
So, anyway, we moved Curly over first and she kind of went apeshit.  It may have been the freedom.  At our old place, she had to be tied up.  Here, she had a pond and a field and tons of room to roam.  Of course, she would not stay in the field, but preferred to gallop (goats gallop, shut up) around the yard menacingly and poop on the porch.
One day I went over to work on the place, and discovered we had had an INTRUDER.
Seriously, y’all.  Someone broke in and wrote on the walls.  This is where it gets weird.  They wrote GOUT KILLER.  Now.  I’m still a bit baffled by this.  I think gout is something to do with feet.  And I’m pretty sure it’s not a good thing.  But I’m no killer.  So, uh…… what?  I kind of wished they’d come back, and like, clarify.  They didn’t.  Anyway. We painted over this cryptic message and moved in.
A few weeks later, our goat, God Rest Her Soul, was attacked and eaten alive by a pack of wild dogs.  I shit you not.  Gus and I had to beat them off of her with shovels (‘cause we are totally badass and zombies better WATCH OUT).
The moral of this story is unclear.  It’s either, vandals can’t spell and also hate goats OR I am destined for weirdness and goat-induced mayhem.

Best Valentine Ever.

7:30 a.m.  Valentine’s Day about 7 years ago (I’ve been working on this awhile, okay?)
Me:  What the fuck have you done?
Gus: Huh?
Gus:  You should probably get some sleep.  (I used to work nights.)
Me:  Seriously, you have got to see this.
*Ok, so this was going to be a picture of  said goat.  Unfortunately, someone has  sabotaged me and I can’t find the damn picture.   However, I googled “spray painted goat” and apparently this is  an act of terrorism and animal cruelty.  I had no idea I was part of an epidemic.   Sweet.
Gus:  Holy shit.
Me:  Did you spray paint that goat?  Because I think that might be illegal.
Gus:  Is that a sticker on its ass?
Me:  Yeah.   It says “do not remove.”
Gus: Can  I keep it?
Me:  Are you fucking kidding me?  Where did you get this goat?  WHY did you get this goat?
Gus:  I’m gonna try to catch it.
**He did not  catch it.  He claims that he doesn’t know  where it came from, nor who painted it and put a sticker on its goat-ass.  I have my doubts.  I went to sleep and when I got up the goat  was gone.  Gus was very upset about the loss.

%d bloggers like this: